Happy Birthday Sherlock
by daleksanddetectives
Summary: "What's that?" Sherlock asks when John shoves a brightly coloured package in front of his face. John grins, "good morning to you too, happy birthday."


"What's that?" Sherlock asks when John shoves a brightly coloured package in front of his face.

John grins, "good morning to you too you prat, happy birthday."

Sherlock shuffles in his chair, placing his phone on the table, "you're mistaken, it's not my birthday."

John raises his eyebrows, "don't even try that, I'm not stupid you know. I asked Mycroft and Mrs Hudson and they both said the sixth of January. Now, here," he places the present on Sherlock's lap and saunters into the kitchen to make two mugs of tea.

Sherlock fires a text to Mycroft, 'I hate you. –SH', before picking the gift up and padding into the kitchen after John, and throwing himself into one of the dining chairs.

"I may have also persuaded Lestrade to show me your file, just to double check" John says, not turning around from the kettle. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"It's not important. I haven't celebrated it since I was eighteen, and I'd rather not start again now."

John sighs, placing Sherlock's mug on the table, "well you live with me now, and I'm going to assume most of those years you forgot because you were on a case. Correct?" Sherlock glares, bringing the mug to his mouth. John shakes his head and smiles, "do you want any breakfast? I can make you eggs or something?"

"No, I'm going to Bart's, Molly texted yesterday saying she had an interesting cadaver in, and Lestrade wants me to have a look at a crime scene."

"Need any help?"

"No, I should only be there an hour at most, heinously simple case, but Lestrade wanted me to show my face. Might be a bit longer at Bart's, depends on whether Molly and I view 'interesting' as the same thing."

"I suppose I'll go do some shopping then, text me anything you want," John smiles and swallows the last of his tea, shrugs his coat on and starts down the stairs.

Sherlock sits silent for a second, fiddling with the present.

"Get me a birthday cake and I promise you, John Hamish Watson, that you will be finding body parts all around this flat for months," Sherlock shouts as an afterthought. He hears John's bark of a laugh and the door closing. He gulps down the rest of his own tea and stares at the present John had left. Small, soft, presumably some sort of sentimental value.

He starts picking at the sellotape, deciding to open it before going out to meet Lestrade. When he gets it open he's greeted by a knitted scarf with blue and brown stripes. The wool feels soft, and upon closer inspection Sherlock see that it was knitted by hand. He drapes it around his neck, _warm and practical_, he thinks. He takes off his dressing gown and puts his coat on, brushing lint from his suit, pulls the scarf closer to his skin, he trots down the stairs to head for the crime scene.

* * *

As he thought, the crime was easily solved and he'd swooped in and out in thirty minutes, meaning he would have more time to spend in the morgue. Anderson and Donovan had been shooting daggers at his scarf, and Lestrade smiling knowingly. Molly had complimented it, saying the little silver stripes made his eyes look nice.

When he gets home the door is unlocked, _John should be back now, why is it so quiet_, he thinks, slowly ascending the stairs. The living room door creaks open and he walks to the middle of the room, _no sign of him_, until he turns to see John and Mrs Hudson in the kitchen, armed with party poppers, the contents of which are now covering the floor and Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock shoots John a glare that says _I will murder you in your sleep_. John chuckles in response, "I couldn't help it, and we've been planning this for a month."

Sherlock rolls his eyes again, removing his coat and starts picking the string from his hair. He perches in his arm chair when Mrs Hudson hands him a piece of cake, it's _Thorntons_ chocolate, so he can't really complain too much.

"I see you like your scarf," John says when he joins Sherlock with his own piece of cake. Sherlock looks down at it, as though he'd forgotten he'd put it on in the first place.

"It's very warm, where did you get it?"

John scratches the back of his neck, "I uh, made it for you. I don't have any of my old needles or anything, but Mrs Hudson let me borrow hers, and I thought since that blue scarf is getting a bit tatty you might like another so you can wear different ones."

Sherlock gapes for a moment, "you knit?"

"Yes. And I'm pretty bloody good at it if you ask me. I haven't made anything in a while, but I couldn't think of anything you might want or need, so," he shrugs, "I got you this too though." He pulls a book shaped gift from under his chair and hands it over.

Sherlock swaps the present for his plate. John stands and takes both plates to the sink. He doesn't turn around, resting his weight on the counter when he hears Sherlock opening the second present.

"_Bee-keeping for Dummies_?" Sherlock shouts into the kitchen.

John laughs loud enough for the married ones next door to hear.


End file.
